


skin you with my tongue

by spacegirlkj



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: F/F, Gore, Implied Sexual Content, Murder, Yandere, illegal organ trafficking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-30
Updated: 2016-08-30
Packaged: 2018-08-11 21:56:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7909036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacegirlkj/pseuds/spacegirlkj
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>kiyoko, a girl with hands like a surgeon and lips like the devil;<br/>yachi, a girl with fingers gripped around a hatchet and a blood splattered face.<br/>(title taken from desire by meg myers)</p>
            </blockquote>





	skin you with my tongue

**Author's Note:**

> how have i, a lesbian, not written kiyoyachi yet  
> have some yandere!yachi

_Tick. Tick. Tick._

Yachi taps her foot on the ground, doesn't bother glancing up at the clock to her left. She’s counting the seconds anyway, _357_. Four more minutes, four minutes until _she_ would come through the door. The steady _ticks_ of the analog clock beside her counts down, and Yachi can barely contain her anxiety, excitement, nervousness, and with every noise, her fingers itch tighter around the hatchet in her hand. _299_. The clock doesn't stop.

She’s standing in a plush living room, antique arm chairs pressed against the burgundy walls. The floor, polished hardwood, is dark and spotless, so much so that it shines, even in the dimmed amber lighting. A part of Yachi wants to sit down in the soft chair and relax, but the bigger part of her can’t shut off, is constantly rushing forwards. Her eyes are transfixed on the door, and faintly, she can here conversation through the walls.

_I think you’d find this one much more satisfying, mademoiselle-_

_Another glass of red is fine, sir._

Yachi huffs out of her nose, blows the stray blonde strand of hair from her face. Her hair lies on the nape of her neck, bangs pulled back with a small bow. She’s dressed in formal wear, a frilly pink dress that would've been fashionable in the eighties. She clicks her heels, an off white pair, and grips the hatchet so hard her knuckles match her shoes. 

_8\. 7. 6._

The sound of voices and footsteps becomes louder, less muted. 

_5\. 4. 3_. 

Yachi rolls the kink from her neck, takes a deep breath to slow her racing heart and shaking lungs. 

_2\. 1._

The doorway opens, and two figures appear.

_0._

Yachi lunges forward, potential energy erupting as the man in front of her shrieks. Adrenaline pulses through her veins as she brings down her hatchet, slicing through the man’s shoulder in seconds. He stumbles, and she jumps forward, eyes frenzied, an anxious grin plastered onto her face. She kicks the man so hard that he falls onto the ground, falls onto her knees and digs them into his stomach.

It’s over when she presses the blade of the hatchet into his neck, digs through his throat until she hits bone. The man is dead in seconds, after choking on his own blood and spit, and Yachi let’s herself rest for a moment, hair undone and framing her face. She has to hunch over and grip the hatchet with both hands to pull it from his spine, and when she does, the blood gushes forwards, spits up onto her already dirtied face. It gurgles for a moment before pooling, letting Yachi know her job is done. 

She hops off of the man’s body, fingertips still tingling with anticipation as she turned to face a woman, dark hair curled and tucked to the side of her neck. She’s stunning, wearing a skin tight black dress that drapes across the floor. Her glasses rest on the bridge of her nose, and when she notices that Yachi is watching her, she smiles softly, moving forward to tuck the falling strands of hair behind her ear. Kiyoko Shimizu presses a chaste kiss to her lips, a sign of adoration, and Yachi’s stomach flutters.

Yachi’s heart races and she thinks, _did I impress her? Did I do a good job? Did I, did I, did I?_

Kiyoko must’ve sensed her worry, because she pries the hatchet from her fingertips and sets it on the ground. “You did a great job.” She tells her, eyes soft, smile sparkling.

Yachi practically glows at the praise, blushes, swoons, as Kiyoko steps forward, hands her a half drunk glass of wine. Kiyoko moves the slit on her skirt to wear her garter lies, and pulls a knife from the lace. 

As Kiyoko busies herself slicing open the man’s torso, Yachi skips over to wear the keep the cooler and a jar of formalin. They don't have much time, but Yachi is giddy off of Kiyoko’s kiss, and Kiyoko is fast enough for the pair of them. She hauls the cooler over beside her, and unscrews the jar of formalin as Kiyoko hands her the man’s heart. She wastes no time in stowing it away as Kiyoko gets to work on the lungs and liver.

Kiyoko is surgical where Yachi isn’t, satin gloves acting as her scrubs as she slits the man’s skin and removes her organs with grace. In less than a minute, they’ve finished, and Yachi is pouring the gasoline while Kiyoko hoists the cooler over her shoulder. The room smells like formaldehyde and gas now, and as Yachi fiddles with the lighter, her own satin gloves slipping, Kiyoko opens the door, waiting for her to throw it onto the ground.

The room lights into flames as Yachi scurries to meet up with Kiyoko, who smiles down at her before sweeping her hair to the side, and looking around for a clock as they race through the home.

“What’s the time?” She asks. They don’t have much, the clock ticks away at the seconds until theymeet with the dealer or are burnt alive.

“Quarter past two. We meet Saeko at three.” Yachi replies. She’s been counting, listening to the ticks the entire time. The smoke rises behind them, and Kiyoko coughs as they slip through the back doors and into the car tucked in the yard.

Kiyoko smiled, putting her foot on the petal and driving away. “I like her.”

Saeko, is, in every sense, loud, eccentric, and good at her job.

She takes the cooler, makes conversation, charms everyone into silence as she slips Kiyoko a wad of cash and a smile.

“Boss was right hiring you two,” She says with a grin. “You never fail to disappoint.”

Yachi sticks close to Kiyoko’s side, let’s her do the talking. She’s oddly shy, despite being soaked in blood with a hatchet still in her hand. Saeko is unfazed by it, clearly, because she turns away with awave and thanks them for the business, says _boss’ll be in contact_ as she meanders away.

Kiyoko exhales. Yachi can see her facade fade away as they move to get back into he car and drive home. Yachi leans over, connects their hands because she is cold now, the adrenaline rush has worn off leaving fits of fear in its wake. Their evening wear becomes too uncomfortable now, the gloves sliding against their fingers in a way that is too smooth to be normal. When Kiyoko parks at the back of their apartment building, Yachi all but drags her into the apartment where they can shed themselves of their dirty clothes.

Only then does Yachi really look down, at the stains covering her pink dress. It’s heaviest around her collarbones and chest, but drips down her stomach as well. She brings a hand to her face, feels the dried blood that lies there. 

It’s strange to some, that this is routine; shedding blood soaked gowns that smelled of formalin and formaldehyde and rotting flesh. Yachi was unfazed at this point, her eyes only fixed on the girl in front of her, who was slipping off her stained black gloves, revealing the porcelain skin underneath. Kiyoko smiles when she sees Yachi staring, moved to unzip the back of her dress until it snags too low for her to reach alone.

“Hitoka, can you get this?” She asks, looking over her shoulder. Her voice is smooth, her eyes soft as she tucks her hair to her neck, leaving the naked skin of her back exposed. Yachi’s breath hitches as she moved forward, fingertips dancing over the smooth, untouched skin as he drags the zipper lower down her back, to the very small of her back. Kiyoko sighs, moving her hair to flow down her back as she pushes the dress off her shoulders, watching as it pools at her ankles. Yachi tries not to choke on her own spit as Kiyoko turns, hair dancing over her chest like a mermaid, a mysterious expression on her face.

“Your turn.” She says, making a come hither movement with her finger.

Yachi tries not to seem eager as she turns, swiping her own hair out of the way so that Kiyoko can unzip the back of her dress. She runs her hands Yachi’s sides, smoothing them over her curves, letting them linger, just for a moment on her breasts before pushing the dress down in a single fluid movement. Yachi steps out of the fabric, turning away from Kiyoko’s gaze as she kicks the stained dress into the corner. 

Kiyoko touches her shoulder with one hand, her chin with the other, raising her head to face her. Yachi keens at the touch as Kiyoko moves the hand on her shoulders to her panties, sliding them down her legs as she takes a step closer, moving her head so that her lips brushed against Yachi’s ear.

And as soon as she was there, she had left, taking a step back with a soft smile, turning to begin running the water. Yachi swallowed the lump in her throat as the shower started, following Kiyoko under the warm spray. The blood that was stuck to her skin instantly began to wash away, but even then, Kiyoko moved to lather soap up her body, rubbing at the stains with such gentleness you wouldn't believe that she’d dissected a man only a few hours earlier. 

(Yachi didn't care, wasn’t she the one to kill him, after all?)

Yachi relaxes into Kiyoko’s touch as the woman pulled her closer, using a soft cloth to wash the blood from her face.

“You did so good, Hitoka.” Kiyoko whispers, staring down into her eyes. 

Yachi hums, heart fluttering as Kiyoko leans forward to kiss her. She tastes faintly of alcohol, but Yachi doesn't mind, instead revealing in the way she slips her hands down her ribcage, to rest on the curve of her hips. 

As Kiyoko’s lips move to mouth down her neck, Yachi can faintly hear herself sigh as she wraps her hands in Kiyoko’s dark hair, water pouring down her neck as she moves it upwards, giving Kiyoko more room to move. 

Yachi loves her, the girl with hands like a surgeon, pretty eyes and prettier words. She loves her, and would do anything for her.

(Her hatchet lies, bloody on the vanity; Kiyoko’s surgeon hands handle her instead of organs.)

 

**Author's Note:**

> organ trafficking is inhumane, especially when murder is committed. with that being said, i hope you enjoyed~  
> chat with me on my tumblr spacegaykj


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